


Nur Ein Herzshclaf Entfernt

by lny



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lny/pseuds/lny
Summary: The pair was drifting apart for a little recently, until one of them decided to make a change.





	Nur Ein Herzshclaf Entfernt

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing this piece of work because yesterday I just found out about the rumour between Domi and Kiki and tbh I can’t really handle it very well yet so I really needed this distraction.  
> And also I miss Thirev being together so badly!!!  
> It is just a short piece of work to make myself feel better and everything written here is not what actually happened(god knows I want it to be). I meant no disrespect for any of the people mentioned in my work.  
> Hope you guys enjoy this and excuse me if there is any error in timeline of the events.  
> The title is from a song by Wincent Weiss, which I have been listening to recently. Not a song that suits this pair perfectly but I really liked some of the lines in the lyrics.  
> AND also English is not my first language so apologise for any language mistakes.

This is the third time Kiki called him to hint that she would very much like to be invited to sit in his box, and frankly, Thiem could not seem to care less about it. 

So he said yes. 

After the early exit in Washington DC and Montreal, Thiem was feeling a little bit desperate to produce a decent performance in Cincinnati, to lift up his spirit in preparation for the US Open, and of course, to close up the gap between him and Alexander Zverev. The one who had already won two of the 1000 master this year and two titles in a row in north America in two weeks time. The one who’d been training so unbelievably hard with his team that they hardly seem to be talking to each other since the interview with Vogue magazine in Wimbledon. The one whom Thiem used to share everything with, like the thrill after winning and frustration after losing, like small strategies to deal with badgering interviewers, like how his mother had been pampering his dog while he is away, and even things that are much more intimate, things that he would not share with anyone else in the world.

A small nod and undistinguishable smile when walking past each other on the training court, which was also a rare occurrence, considering how different their training schedule had become. Thiem missed how the same time last year, when two of them trained together almost throughout the entire north America season. He would definitely not admit it but sometimes he would go to Zverev’s Instagram to look at all those photos and memories would suddenly submerge from deep within to make him smile a little without him noticing it. It already felt like ages ago, yet every second of it was so real, as if he could bring it all back if he tried harder. 

So he tried harder. And fell again, in the quarter-final in Cincinnati.

Thiem didn’t quite understand how and why they had been drifting apart from each other, apart from the fact that they couldn’t seem to stay in the same tournament together. It had to be his own problem, he thought, like he typically would, always looking for the problem from his side and not someone else’s. Is it possible that he had been deliberately avoiding Zverev because he is feeling, at least hidden deep within, a little bit bitter about the younger German achieving a higher ranking than him? He could not really tell. But all he knew was when the interviewer asked about the limit for the his “good friend Sascha”, he answered without even thinking about it. 

“Well, the limit is number one.”

And he could not be more genuine about every single word of this answer. He could just close his eyes and imagine Sascha winning Grand Slams, climbing all the way up to the top ranking of the ATP World Tour, and there was no bitter at all, only a mixed feeling of proud, and something else that he could not quite figure out, something that seemed to be missing from that scene he pictured within his head and he could not figure out what. It has become a real problem for Thiem now, more difficult than learning Tennis from such a young age, or answering interview in English in front of cameras, and even more so than years ago when he had to figure out his feeling for his “good friend” Sascha. 

Things never just get better by themselves.

When he came back from tennis court and saw Zverev’s interview after losing to Coric in US Open, Thiem’s heart broke a little. Or maybe more than a little. He could not bear to look into Sascha’s bluish green eyes when they are filled with sorrow, not even in front of a screen. He could not bear to see how Sascha had to answer all those insensible questions from the interviewers at such a terrible state straight after losing in the second round in a Grand Slam. He knew he had to do something, though he’s uncertain about what he was going to say, what he could possibly say to make Sascha feel a little better. Maybe nothing would, but he picked up his phone anyway. 

“About time you call me, huh?”  
A tone almost light enough to hide how upset he was, but being Dominic Thiem, of course he’d distinguish every emotion from Sascha’s voice, no matter how hard the young German was trying to hide it, no matter how long it had been since their last meaningful conversation, he’d always know. 

“Sorry… I meant, sorry for today… Actually, also for… recently.”  
Thiem is losing his arts for language, he was a little startled by how direct he was.

And apparently, so was Sascha.

There was a long silence in the line that Thiem almost wanted to ask if the one on the other side was still there.

“…could you, come over?”

“Of course, see you in ten.”

He rushed out of his room without changing, dashed out of his hotel and headed straight to Zevrev’s one a few blocks away, not knowing exactly how he managed to find the right way. He thought about what he is going to say to the young German, and decided talking was too much of a hassle. He was never too good at talking anyway and how could those words of comfort actually bring any comfort to Sascha right now. He knew the feeling of yearning for victory and not having it way too well to be thinking about what to say. 

So when the door of Zverev’s room opened immediately after his gentle knock, he said nothing. They stood in the door way and stared at each other for five seconds long, but it was nothing like a moment of awkwardness, it was an intense exchange of emotions between the two young men, as if they were trying to convey all the things they had not have the chance to tell each other. 

The colour of Sascha’s eyes are even lighter now that he’s in front of him, Thiem thought. And sadder. The Austrian decided it was just too much for him to take, so he moved closer, and held his Sascha in his arm. Not that he was ever the keen one to hug between the two of them, but it felt right at this moment. It felt right to have his arm gently laid on Sascha’s back, padding him slowly. It felt right to have Sascha’s head on his shoulder, like a lost child who’s finally finding his way back to safety. It also felt right, that his own head was leaning against Sascha’s not so muscular chest, so close that he could hear his rhythmic heartbeat, calming and soothing. 

Thiem felt the young German was starting to sob a little when he was about to pull away, so he didn’t. They stayed in that position for a long time and both of them could barely register how long. But it didn’t feel that long anyway. 

When Zverev’s sob faded gradually, he finally lifted his head from Thiem’s shoulder and kissed him. The sensation of their lips pressed against each other was nothing that Thiem could ever get used to, his hair was suddenly all standing up on his back and he was eager to open his month and let Sascha’s tongue inside his mouth. But the young German left where it should be. 

“Let’s not get you too excited now. Got a match to prepare, don’t you?” Zverev’s voice was still hoarse but his tone was much more lighter. Thiem couldn’t help to smile at him, feeling both glad and a little bit embarrassed. 

“Come Domi, I’ve got something to show you.” 

Thiem was about to laugh how Zverev had taken out a magazine with Jennifer Lawrence on the cover when he saw the magazine being flipped to the page with two of them on it. He had not have the time to read the article yet, but he only had to guess that they were being referred to as the next Federer and Nadal. 

This is the moment when Thiem suddenly realised what was missing from the picture in his head where Sascha was standing on top of the world.

Himself, standing beside. That was what’s missing.

Both of them had been talking and picturing the future of tennis where they are dominant, together, now with the help from journalists and media, it all seemed so achievable to him, until his recent mediocre performance. 

And it scared him. 

“What if I’m not good enough, Sascha?”  
Thiem said in an uncertain voice, without looking at the German into his eyes. 

“Says the one who is still in the draw.” Zverev’s voice was a little irritated, “and what if I’m not good enough?”

The sudden silence was about the break the spell built between them moments ago. But Zverev decided he was not going to let that happen. 

“Look, Dominic, we don’t need to be compared with anyone else. Good enough for what? To be called the next Fedal? Why would we need that anyway. We are ThiRev, aren’t we?”

There was so much force and emotion in Zverev’s words, the way those eyes locked onto his and the tone so genuine and determined that Thiem was almost going to break into tears. If he did not lose the ability to speak at that moment, he would not hesitate a second to declare how much love he felt for the young German standing in front of him, staring at him, instilling into him a huge amount of energy that no one else could give. 

So they hugged again, this time with much more force, as if trying to close up every distance left between their skins. 

“I know you love me so much. Now go take a shower Domi, you really stink.” 

Thiem laughed, he reached for the German’s hair and messed up those curls for a bit before disappearing into the bathroom, with a big smile on his face.


End file.
